


promise me your heart

by NalgeneWhore



Series: Elorcan One Shots [83]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Canonical Alternate Universe, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Romantic Fluff, Soulmates, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28488795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NalgeneWhore/pseuds/NalgeneWhore
Summary: title is based off a song: for the dancing and the dreaming*vardo: traditional romany wagoni hope u enjoyed reading n thank u for kudos/comments u lovely people <3<3<3
Relationships: Elide Lochan/Lorcan Salvaterre
Series: Elorcan One Shots [83]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636468
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	promise me your heart

Night had fallen hours ago, but still they did not sleep. 

A fearsome fire roared and danced in the pit they had built, encircled with marked stones. On the other side, _he_ sat. 

The demi-fae’s dark eyes were wide and could not stop moving, always looking at something new. The witch laughed into her mug of honey ale and drank deeply, the slightly sweet drink cool and refreshing. 

When she put her mug down, his eyes were on her. 

Elide felt her cheeks blush and turned her face away, cursing him for having this- this foolish, _lovesick_ spell on her. No _male_ made her blush. Not even this one, with his long, long hair and his black tattoos that wrapped around bronze skin rippling with muscles every time he shifted. 

She bared her iron fangs in annoyance, at no one in particular. Elide Lochan was almost six-hundred years old. She was the leader of the most feared witch clan in the world. She had killed men, women, males, and females with her bare hands and teeth. 

As for the beasts she’d slain, well, she kept their skulls as trophies in her _vardo*_ , the white bones gleaming and shining, fitting in with the colourful drapes and carpets and adornments she had collected over the centuries. 

Elide tipped her cup up, only to find that she’d finished her drink. She grumbled and tapped an iron nail over the rim, stewing in silence. Her quick eyes glanced at the male again and her cunning mind wondered what to do with him. 

Three weeks ago, she’d found him. At the base of one of the towering and foreboding peaks of Morla. He’d hardly been breathing, curled into a tight ball, his weapons askew in the snow around him. Death had seeped from him, shadow-like strands of it skittering across the ice and snow covered ground. 

They’d seeked her out, herding her towards him. 

Elide had managed to drag him back to their camp and tended to him in her caravan, not letting another witch see him, not even her second, Manon. When the moon-haired witch had teased her, telling her she had gone _soft_ for him, Elide had snarled in her face and gone back to his side, until the fever broke. Until he stopped having those… those terrible nightmares, she assumed. 

The ones where he thrashed and pleaded, speaking in an ancient warrior language, one she had not heard in ages. Once, tears rolled from his narrow eyes, screwed shut tightly, spilling down his high cheeks. Not knowing what to do and having the undeniable urge to soothe him, Elide had held his face and kissed his brow, whispering a soft prayer. 

She was startled from her musings when the very subject of them sat down next to her. He was so large that their shoulders, arms, hips, and legs were pressed together. Elide could feel his enticing warmth against her. 

“Are… are you the one who saved me,” he asked, his voice low and grating. 

“Yes,” she said, looking up at him. Maiden, Mother, and Crone save her. He was too tall. “What of it?” 

The male arched a brow and shrugged a large shoulder up, “Where I come from, it’s customary to thank one for doing you a favour. You saved my life and I should owe you a great debt.” 

“I have zero want for a foolish and young male’s debt.” 

“Young?” he choked, then chuckled. “I am anything but young. I’ve lived more than my share of centuries.” 

Without thinking, Elide replied, “As have I.” 

Shocked that such words and such information about herself had slipped from her round lips, Elide snapped her eyes to his. They surveyed each other in turn and the witch was the first to look away, a soft smirk curling the corner of her mouth. “You’re welcome.” 

He looked at her again and Elide clarified, “For saving your life.” She leaned just the slightest of bits into him. “You may call me Elide. Whatever do they call you, in your strange land?” 

“Lorcan.” 

Elide hummed and they both stared ahead. The heavy, booming drum beats slowly died and the witch looked around. Surely her fleet could not be tiring yet. Many, many a time their festivities raged on for days. 

Her worries were soothed when it began again and almost immediately, Elide glared at Asterin and Manon. 

Their fiddles, well worn and well loved, were nestled comfortably on their shoulders and tucked beneath their chins. They played a delicate and sweet tune and a loud cry of approval swept through the camp. 

Almost instantly, witches were surging to their feet and grabbing their loves, dancing around the fire. And then, the most golden of witches opened her mouth and pure heaven spilled from it. Asterin’s sun-flecked eyes sparkled, _“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning…”_

She looked to her cousin and Manon rolled her eyes of pure gold before singing in her rasping voice, _“And gladly ride the waves of life, if you would marry me…”_

For the next lines, they sang together, a perfect harmony. Elide’s second stared pointedly at her, subtly tilting her head. Elide scowled as her face heated. _Never._

_Stop being a wee witchling. I know you fancy him._

_How_ dare _you, Blackbeak?_

Manon’s satisfied grin, the fangs she wore on proud display glinting in the firelight, told Elide she’d let too much of herself show. _And what are you going to do about it?_

She fumed, but knew in her gut that Manon was right. 

_“No scorching heat nor freezing cold will stop me if you will promise me your heart…”_

Darkness, how Elide loathed it when Manon was right. And Manon was right all the time. 

Before she could do a thing, Lorcan was standing and his hand extended to her. She looked at it, her mouth popping open, her eyes widening. Elide snapped her head up to look at him, “What are you doing?” 

He shifted uncomfortably, glancing around. She could’ve sworn she saw red stealing across his cheeks. “Oh, well- I just- the others are- is–” Lorcan cut himself off, thinning his full lips in self loathing. “Would you like to dance with me, Elide?” 

“Yes,” Elide said, her response quick and rushed. She primly cleared her throat and stood. Before Elide placed her hand in his, she retracted her iron nails and gathered the skirts of her red dress in hand. “Shall we?” 

“Certainly, witchling.” Lorcan looked to the fire and smirked, awaiting her reply. 

She clicked her tongue, “Shut it, _faeling._ ” 

“Oh, how you wound me,” he chuckled. 

Elide narrowed her eyes at him and sharply tugged him into the dance. She held their hands up and quirked her brow, “My waist, Lorcan.” 

His large hand curled around her waist and he pulled her closer, so that she was forced to crane her head up to meet his eye. “Now what?” 

“We dance, of course!” she laughed, dancing nimbly on her feet. Elide let Lorcan follow, his footsteps slightly slower. His head was bent, his brow furrowed as he watched her steps. With a surge of confidence, Elide leaned up, kissing the wrinkle between his eyebrows. Lorcan inhaled sharply, his eyes wide as he looked at her. She swallowed once and said, her voice far more unsteady than she liked, “Don’t frown, you’ll get wrinkles.” 

A large, booming laugh burst from him. Lorcan quickly picked it up and danced with her, urging her faster and faster. When he spoke, he spoke as if they were taking a leisurely stroll, “I’m six-hundred years old, Elide, I am not worried about _wrinkles_.” 

“Aha, I am six-hundred and _one_ years old which means _I_ know more than you,” she boasted. Elide squealed when Lorcan abruptly spun her out and snapped her back into his arms. Her hand came to rest on his chest and she could feel his heart beating against her palm, “Oh.” 

He smiled and she noticed the deep, dishy dimples on his cheeks, “Don’t fall behind, Elide.” 

She frowned in offence and switched her steps to something complex and beautiful. Lorcan only slowed for a moment before he matched her, step for step. Elide laughed then, her head tossed back as a pealing sound escaped her. 

Lorcan looked down at the ethereal beauty he spun, her cheeks rosy and eyes closed in delirious joy. 

As the music picked up speed, they went faster and faster and faster still. Elide’s blood-red skirts spun and flashed and twirled with her hips. Her hair shifted like dark waves of a troubled ocean and Lorcan was utterly, utterly bewitched by the divinity of it all. By the divinity of _her_.

That quickly, in such a flash, they tripped and stumbled, rolling to the flattened grass. They tumbled over each other, until finally coming to a stop. Lorcan was pinned beneath Elide, her knees bracing on either side of his hips. 

Their chests heaved and the off-the-shoulder sleeve of Elide’s dress slipped. Lorcan reached up, as did she, to push it back. When their hands touched, the both of them froze and looked at each other, analysing what they saw. 

Slowly, Lorcan sat up and Elide slid her fingers through his. He cupped her face, his hand softer than it had ever been before. The witch leaned her cheek into his palm and rested her free hand against his chest, her fingers shaking as she curled them into the loose collar of his shirt. 

He thought she might kiss him, her breath fanning softly over his face, but she didn’t. Instead, Elide shifted to sit next to him, “You must be hungry.” 

Lorcan was about to say, no, but his stomach protested and he cracked a grin, “Starving, but I do have to tell you, I don’t care for virginal sacrifices or young men. They scream far too much.” 

Elide stood up and offered her his hand, “The virgins or the men?” 

“The men, obviously,” he scoffed. He accepted her hand and stood.

She laughed again, that bright, warm and golden noise stirring something in his chest. “Right answer.” They walked to a large tent, one with beaded fabric walls. The tent’s entrance was pinned open, showing the glowing oil lamps and low tables laden with food and drink. 

Elide practically pranced in, holding her large skirts in her hands. She sat down and patted the space beside her. Lorcan walked in and took his seat, looking around him at the array of colourful, aromatic choices. “What should I choose?” 

She hummed, her sharp eyes searching the options. “Hmmm… try the saffron rice first, to start. Nothing too rich, your body is still healing.” Before she ate, she took a metal bowl filled with water and gestured for him to do the same. Then, Elide took a stuffed pepper, its skin blackened by flame. She deftly scraped the burned skin off and began to eat. 

Lorcan scooped some of the yellow rice onto his plate and ate with his hands, not seeing any utensils. Elide didn’t seem to even notice, so he assumed it was customary. It was all very well, this was how he ate as a child, before everything, with his mother and his sisters. 

His throat ached with tears for a moment and Lorcan ate slowly, knowing that his stomach would ache if he went too quickly. 

The rice was gone quickly and when he reached for more, the witch stopped him. “Now try this.” She put a bowl of rabbit stew in front of him and his nose twitched, scenting the myriad of spices all melding together. Elide put a round piece of bread beside his bowl. “You need to eat more, you’re too skinny.” 

“Well, yes, I nearly froze to death,” Lorcan said drily, frowning when she patted his cheek a touch too hard. 

“Don’t be contrary,” Elide said. “Eat your stew.” Her hand rested on his cheek and Lorcan snapped his teeth towards her fingertips, laughing when she shrieked and snatched them back. “Devil fae.”

“Devil witch.” 

Elide hummed in appreciation and they ate until their bellies were warm and full. 

Outside, the fiddles still played and the witches still danced, bright and merry. Elide and Lorcan took their plates and bowls and walked to the river behind her _vardo_. They washed in silence and stacked their dishes beside them. Warm and sated, Elide leaned against Lorcan and he wrapped his arm around her. Elide sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. She tipped her head to the side and pressed her face into the crook of his neck. “Will you be leaving soon, then?” 

His arm slipped from her shoulders and his warm hand fit into the cradle of her waist. The demi-fae’s voice was soft and low, his head leaning against hers, “Do you wish for me to leave soon? Your witches must not care for males.” 

“I do not care what my witches think about this,” she whispered, her hands finding his free one. “And I do not wish for you to leave.” Elide looked up at him, his face bathed in the light of the moon. Like she could not help herself nor control herself, Elide reached up and marked those beautifully untameable features of his. She ran her fingers down his cheekbone and dragged one down the ridge of his brow, following the path it made to his straight nose. 

Lorcan simply watched her, his eyes soft and dark as he surveyed her. Her fingers trembled slightly as she traced the corners of his mouth. He hardly dared to breathe. Elide swallowed once before she pressed her lips to his, forced to rise onto her knees. 

He lifted his hand to cup her face, softer that he’d ever been before. She sighed softly and leaned her cheek into his palm. When Lorcan tangled his hand in her hair to kiss her fully, Elide shifted to straddle him, her knees bracketed on either side of his hips. 

When he had woken in that foreign, vibrant and colourful carriage, Lorcan had not been scared. Something had settled in his chest, something he hadn’t known he’d been aching for. He had been too tired, too weak to explore it, to reason it. Too safe. 

“Don’t leave. Please,” Elide whispered, pulling back slightly. “Won’t you stay?

“I will,” Lorcan swore, for he had found it. 

He had found his heart, ancient and wicked and _his_ in every way possible. And Elide, she had found the one to protect her, in this life and every life after. 

Even after the world went to ruin and damnation, they would remain this way, for they were finally home.

**Author's Note:**

> title is based off a song: for the dancing and the dreaming 
> 
> *vardo: traditional romany wagon
> 
> i hope u enjoyed reading n thank u for kudos/comments u lovely people <3<3<3


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